


Kaleidoscope

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-06
Updated: 2006-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The body is a temple, the castle is being stormed, the sky is falling. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaleidoscope

The body is a temple, the castle is being stormed, the sky is falling. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Silver on my tongue, thirty pieces, lining my room and the bed we lie on. Make your bed and lie on it, move along Crown Street, find Mr. Humpty Dumpty pudding and pie, twist the colors and spin it all again.

They come for me again, two by two, down the halls of blue, down the stairs and down the chair and in my hair and on my face and here we are again.

I can see my soul from here. It's breaking, shaking, shiver and shaking, quaking. Crack up, smack up, all up and out and out...

_"Begin the alpha sequence within the standard protocol," a crisp voice says. He checks the box on the appropriate line once the sequence begins._

I'm lying awake in these restless dreams, end of time and end of mind. I reach inside your stormy clouds and see the vast horizons. Penumbra, umbra, helion and perihelion. Aphelion. The stars shine bright at night, but out in black sky there is always night. There is always night behind the clouds, behind the mask, the deep dark blackness of the souls they carry locked within. Hold on tight, hold fast, it won't always last, it's not always the end. Infinite galaxies spinning out within the universe, ever expanding, dark matter lying silent and still.

I remember. Can't remember. Don't remember. Always and nothing, nothing, nothing.

Echopraxia, echolalia, echoic noises. _Is this catatonia? We may need to page the doctor..._

The good doctor, the bad doctor, needles and pins and paper plates, pricks and smoothers and cleaners and fractured knowledge twisted to seditious purpose. Simon thinks he knows and understands how everything works. He thinks he understands. He sees the broken skin and knows how to suture, he knows how to make the cuts fast and clean. He understands the necessity of sterility, he understands infection and contagion. He doesn't understand nuance, doesn't comprehend subtlety.

I understand and comprehend. She does not.

She is broken, fleeting, beating. She is kept under lock and key and won't open and release. They tell her not to, they fight her down. They fear her, rightfully so.

I do, too.

Blue eyes, blue skies, brown shoes, leather pants and a knife against his teeth. Somehow the sight of this is comforting. I don't know what it means. I don't know what anything means anymore. I once caught the drift of things, but it falls away from me, it splinters in my hands, broken driftwood. I'm caught within the tide, tears spilling into the salt ocean.

So many ways spent hiding, so many undone plans. There's no fighting when no one understands and no one wants to. Their lies remain, the dreams the same, it's only fleeting words with twisted meanings and spent residue. We watch the stars as they slowly fade away, replaced by haze and maze and strange remains. Remain, remain, remainder, reminder. Listen to the fragments of my thoughts, broken and deceived. I don't know the way anymore, no way down, no travel to distance the ways. I've never questioned the questions, I've never second-guessed the guessers, never thought to look for what was lost within.

_"Good, good. Very well, start Phase Two. We're ready to begin."_

I feel the needle prick, and I look over at Simon, sticking my tongue out at him. My hair is wet and tangled, though I can't be bothered with that. Who needs hair, anyway? Dead proteins, keratin in whorls and loops and curls. It does not signify, it does not correlate. That does not define the thing that is girl, it does not define the thing that is _mei mei._

"This will make you feel better," Simon says. He says many things, he knows many things. He does not know the secrets of my spirit, the soul within my heart. He cannot see these things, he cannot see the imprint on my skin.

Speak in tongues, rings, things, sings. I can dance and dance, loop and whirl, become as light as air. Take the initiative, move through this.

_"Initiating."_

I cannot eat. The food is tainted, it doesn't taste right. There's something wrong with this place, something wrong with the body politic. The walls move at night, they creep and crawl, wave with shadows. The air shimmers. It is terrifying, I cower, and the floor rises up to eat me. I cannot lie still, I cannot allow it to happen. Spines are tasty, mine most of all.

_"Sir? These waves shouldn't be here. What do you think it is?"_

_"Call Dr. Mathias. He should know, it's his project."_

I'm sitting in a cherry tree, just me and me and my little pacifist. Little Mouse, Little Mouse, come out come out wherever you are...

I see the writing on the wall, I can read the lines between the words and see the pictures in their hearts. I know. I read people like books, I read books like people. I devour souls. I murmur and murder and murner.

I sit beneath the banyan tree and watch the procession go by. Siddartha knew what he was talking about, knew that wisdom came in silence, that cacophony obscures veracity. Opacity shields the malcontents and discontents and dissonants from exposure.

_"You idiot. She's in REM sleep! Start the Delta Program!"_

I watch as she shifts and fractures. I see the cold seep into her bones, coat her insides with an oil slick. I have to protect the girl.

I scream. I go wild.

_"Stabilize her vitals!"_

There is no proper conversation. There is only dissonance.

Simon thinks he sees, Simple Simon. Everything is linear, everything is straightforward and literal. This is falsehood. They obfuscate. It goes stepwise, pathetic, apathetic. There is no normality in a place like this, in a scene like this.

There is no forward, only backward. Only down.

_"What's your badge number? Where were you on this? Give me the supervisor's line!"_

they follow a template, and they try to match the subject to the template

only the template has been malformed, there is no other way to call it there is something wrong with the way the template has been formed they say i am the best student i always was the best student but this is different now and why have i lost words i was always good with words, logic and illusion they say

i am not progressing

_"Finally! I need someone competent in here at all times. Is that understood?"_

_"Yes, sir. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."_

_"It better not. Your position depends upon it." Dr. Mathias didn't even spare a glance at the girl in the chair. She was simply another subject. "Make sure she doesn't code!"_

The fragments don't solidify. They won't solidify into something recognizable; the original form was lost long ago. They bent and broke it, reshaped it according to their will. They cut and cut and adjusted and reshaped, unnecessary bits removed and eliminated.

The girl stopped being a girl a long time ago. She's all grown up now, grown up into something different and strange. She does not comprehend.

The story was cast and reshaped as it evolved. The original thread was lost.

There is no thread. There is no story.

There is nothing left but time and blue and space.

Somewhere in the black, blue eyes wait for me. Bad things will happen, bad things and true things, teeth and razor nails. Needles and pins, waking things, silly things. Stacking dolls and colored pencils, bare feet on cold metal grates. Blue is death, and death sinks beneath the floor and hides amongst the living. They go two by two.

They come for you. They always come for you.

I know, the girl says. I always know. I will keep you safe when it's my turn. I will begin again when they have stopped believing. I see the end of all things, and I see the end of you.

I will protect you, I will keep you safe.

She dreams. She always dreams. Things are safest in dreams, except when they're not.

It's not. Not ever, not now, not then.

Sink beneath the waves, eyes closed, arms over chest. Boom and squish and splish and splash, down into the dark of the black.

It waits.

My spine writhes; it knows the time is coming soon.

Soon the chill will creep in, death by cold, death slow and simple. I see the secrets to the moon, I know where the endings begin. I know all about secrets and salutations and creations and elations and depressions.

Come to the valley of the shadows. I wait for you.

_"Mmm... This is interesting. We'll repeat this protocol again tomorrow. Make sure someone else is on shift."_

_"Yes, sir, Dr. Mathias."_

_"We have important visitors coming soon. Key members of Parliament, no less. I want everything in shape, no slipups of any kind. Is that clear?"_

_The orderly swallowed down his rage and nodded. "Perfectly. It will all be in order for tomorrow's session."_

_"Very good. Clean her up and put her back in lockdown. We don't want her acting out again during an evaluation. Pity, he was such a good psychiatrist. We were close to finding a way to stabilize the psychosis."_

_The orderly remained silent and watched Dr. Mathias leave the treatment room. He touched the girl's face gently, and palmed a set of access keys._

_It was only a matter of matter time before she would be free._

 

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